Art of Normality
by KateTheCat
Summary: Zia Kabool, an orphan, should've lived her life oblivious to magic. Instead, her parents' murderer comes to kill her, her magic shows itself, and she is bitten by a werewolf. Additionally, Hogwarts is the only school that will accept a werewolf, and she has to move from the States to Britain. Harry Potter fans, please welcome the newest member of the Golden Quartet. AU.


_August 24, 1979_

 _Afternoon_

A storm was brewing as the African dark witch strode up the steps to the ancient temple, her supporters following. The dark clouds swirled ominously. _Ah, yes,_ she thought, _a perfect day to start the destruction of the wizarding world._ Of course, as she knew very well, the storm would have been a simple drizzle if it weren't for her presence. Her natural magic was so great that it even affected the skies.

"Hey!" an Auror shouted. The winds picked up with her annoyance. "You're not supposed to be here!" She laughed, a high cold sound that could be heard throughout the valley below her.

She flicked her wand at the Auror and he flew through the air, almost as if he were swept aside. She gestured for her followers to take care of the others who were now running towards them. There were only four; such a small protection force for the most powerful place on the planet. It was so like the Moroccan Ministry to assume that because something was little known, it wasn't worth the resources to protect. But, to their knowledge, there was no one powerful enough to use it properly.

Oh, how wrong they were.

She continued to climb the steps, smiling as she thought of what she would do once she had the power.

She finally came to the top of the pyramid. Four pillars stood at the corners, holding up the capstone of the pyramid up and creating a gazebo type structure. In the center was a fire pit, that resembled a bronze bowl, sitting on a pedestal.

She gestured to one of her supporters, who were now done with the Aurors. She had only brought a few, just seven, but that was all she needed. She decided to think of a name for them later, although not one as crude as "death eaters".

The follower gave her a phoenix feather, unicorn hair and dragon heartstring, along with a blend of glowing powder. The storm respond to her glee, clouds swirling and wind howling. The sky seemed to darken as she lit a fire in the bowl and threw the powder in. The flames changed colors, every hue from red to green. She began to chant. Golden symbols seemed to float from the bowl to encircle her with the fire.

Voldemort and Grindelwald and all the other dark wizards were stupid. They simply gained enough power to support their campaign and then stopped. That was why they were all defeated. They never improved, evolved or advanced.

As soon as she had this power, she would've advanced past the limits for improvement. She would be invincible.

But she wasn't yet.

Unbeknownst to her, the shadows that the fire cast were elongating and taking on human forms. Slowly, they cast silencing charms on her minions and grabbed them. The symbols around her began to solidify and glow. She continued chanting.

It wasn't until her former apprentice called, "Sabra, don't do this!" did she hesitate. She could not stop or else the spell would backfire, in different ways depending on where she stopped. Even so, her voice rang out using a charm of her own invention.

"How dare you speak to me like that, you traitor!" she, or rather, her disembodied voice, shouted. Sabra was still chanting.

"You were going too far!" the other woman screamed to be heard against the wind.

"I could have helped you, Asha!" Sabra's voice said. The real her was reaching a key part in the chant…

"You were being consumed with dark magic!" Asha yelled. Sabra threw in the phoenix feather, unicorn hair, and dragon heartstring and Asha lunged for her, lashing out with her magic. Sparks flared out of her wand tip, but these were no ordinary sparks. They were bigger, and they flew toward exactly where they were aimed, deadly as knives. It was one of the only spells of Sabra's that Asha would use.

Sabra dodged out of the way and, to her own horror, stopped chanting to fire a spell at Asha. She ducked out of the circle of symbols, hoping to avoid the consequences, but it was too late. She screamed as her soul was painfully taken from her body, not to die, but to live on in silent torture for the rest of its eternal existence.

Meanwhile, Asha dodged Sabra's spell and stepped into the circle. She cried out in horror and waited her her end to come as well.

Fortunately for her, the three wand cores gravitated towards her. One reason that the three cores were never put together to make a wand was that it was impossible for such a wand to find a master. There would never be a person who was as resourceful and smart as a dragon, while being as kind and patient as a unicorn and as honorable and brave as a phoenix. It was impossible for such a pure soul to exist.

And yet Asha's soul was deeply altered from her time with Sabra and the Dark Arts and then purified through her escape. She had all those qualities, and she therefore attracted all three cores.

The cores were so altered from Sabra's spell that they were pure magic. They floated toward Asha in the form of a ball of golden light. It floated inside of her and burst. Asha collapsed from the strain it took for her to hold that much pure magic.

A hispanic looking man rushed onto the top of the pyramid. "Asha!" he shouted.

He saw Sabra's (seemingly) dead body and felt a tiny pinprick of relief. Sabra was gone. He paled as he saw Asha's collapsed body. He ran to her and cradled her to his chest.

Asha tried to absorb the magic, but there was simply too much. If she kept this up, she would die. _Unless..._ she mentally shook her head at the thought. It was too dangerous. _But surely it wouldn't matter if he/she had some extra magic, right?_ Asha decided that she wasn't going to let herself die. She tried to push only a little of the magic into the only other person capable of receiving it— her own flesh and blood.

Asha was two months pregnant.

But it was like floodgates opening. The magic rushed to her child and she couldn't stop it until most of it was gone. Fortunately, enough of it was gone that she could open her eyes.

"Sebastian," she whispered when she saw her lover. He smiled and she smiled back, trying to convince herself that she hadn't just condemned their unborn child to a life of constantly trying to balance their impossible magic.

* * *

 _November 29, 1993_

 _Twilight_

Fourteen years later, a dark figure emerged from the bushes. Sabra, newly revived, laid in wait for something she'd endured years of torture for: Revenge.

Sabra knew it wouldn't be easy, though. After all, Zia, her target, _was_ Asha's daughter, even if Asha herself was long dead.


End file.
